Baby It's Cold Outside
by November9Noir
Summary: A holiday themed ficlet, random.  Tangentally related to my other fic 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.'  Sorry it wasn't ready by Christmas, but with relatives coming in and just real life happening, well, here we are!


Title: Baby It's Cold Outside

Author: November9Noir

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from 'Person of Interest,' nor am I profiting from this work in any way.

A/N: a holiday-themed ficlet, random

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><p>Reese had been at St. Patrick's Cathedral all day. Not moving around, not saying anything, just…waiting and watching, apparently. Finch wondered if anyone had noticed their new addition to the Neo-Gothic architecture, imagining Reese as a tall, silent stone gargoyle…in a suit. The thought made him smile.<p>

Curiosity finally got the better of him, and impelled him out of the Library and into the streets. He took a cab to East 51st Street. He wondered how Reese got access to these places. Probably just walked in like he belonged there, where Finch had other ways of making himself invisible.

He limped up the stairs to the entryway and scanned around, not seeing anyone he recognized. "Where are you, Mr. Reese?" he muttered under his breath.

"Second floor, east transept," Reese's voice came through, shocking Finch into the realization that Reese must have his earpiece on.

"Architecture is not my strong suit," Finch said irritably.

"So there's actually something you don't know about?" the younger man responded, amused. "Where are you, Harold?"

"At the entrance."

"The church is laid out in the form of a cross. Come up the side aisle until you get to where the arms of the cross would be. Make a right, then sort of tucked behind the column is the door to the stairwell."

It was cold on the roof. Reese's only concession to the weather was a long black wool jacket. "How did you find out about this?" Finch asked.

Reese acknowledged him with a nod. "They give architectural tours. It's amazing what you can find out on-line. Why did you come here?"

"Curiosity is a failing of mine," Finch replied. "Once, it nearly got me killed."

Reese shrugged slightly in reply, and kept watching the church. A wedding party came out into the gardens to brave the cold for a few pictures, and then was whisked away to their waiting cars. "That's the fourth wedding here today," Reese commented somewhat absently.

"Oh," was all Finch had to offer in reply. He had the feeling that Reese had more to say, so he waited.

"I was raised Catholic," Reese finally said. "You?"

"Presbyterian," Finch answered. "We would go to Catholic services sometimes. The incense was very bad for my asthma, though." Reese pictured a skinny, nerdy, coke-bottle-glasses wearing, asthmatic young Finch, and it was so sad and pathetic he smiled in sympathy.

"So, the full-on Catholic experience? Sin, guilt, confession, penance, redemption?" asked Finch.

"Full-on, hard-core Catholicism. Haven't seen much of redemption in this life, though."

The sun was setting, and the wind started to pick up. "I've always found that Catholics either fully embrace everything about the faith and find comfort in it, or it _really_ messes them up," Finch offered.

That earned a rare, wry smile from Reese. "I didn't need the Catholic Church to mess me up. The U.S. Government did that." He seemed to be lost inside himself.

Another long silence, then finally, "This is the first Christmas I can remember in a long time," Reese said. "I mostly remember being drunk and cold for the last few years. Last year, I probably had dinner at the Bowery Mission and then slept on the subway. The last Christmas I really remember clearly was 2007. I was in Russia. Eastern Orthodox Christmas celebrations are really something."

Finch knew Reese's Agency service record. Russia was where Reese had started drinking heavily, brought about in part, no doubt, by the easy availability of vodka. He and his team had then been transferred to Mexico, although the CIA's justification for getting involved in the drug war was dubious at best. Reese had still been getting top marks for his performance on-duty, but his behavior on his down time had become increasingly erratic, fueled by the even easier availability of tequila. It was a miracle his liver had survived.

The final blow had been the news of Jessica's death. At that, Reese had sobered up enough to allegedly murder his handler and fake his own death, then use God-knows-what underground means to make his way back to the States and then to New York City.

Where Finch had found him. Finch didn't believe in Fate, or coincidences for that matter, but it seems he could scarcely have found a better partner than Reese.

"It's a strange thing about the human condition," Finch mused. "There will be no happy ending for men like us, John, but yet…hope remains. The Greeks had it right, with the Pandora story. All these horrible things released into the world, but what was the last thing left, the last gift to humanity? Hope."

"You didn't need to come up here to tell me that," Reese observed.

"Perhaps not," replied Finch. "But it's good for me to get out of that tomb of an office every once in a while." Reese did not seem inclined to leave. "You must be solar-powered, Mr. Reese, standing up here in the sun all day, but I am freezing, and my back is starting to cramp up. So, if you don't mind, I require your assistance down the stairs, so I don't fall and perhaps knock over a priest getting everything ready for evening service."

"Of course, Finch." Reese scrambled to get the door open for him.

"You don't need to carry me or anything," Finch said, a bit waspishly. "Just keep a step in front of me and catch me if necessary." Reese opened the door quietly and checked that the coast was clear, then gestured for Finch to follow him.

Finch stopped just before going through and looked Reese in the eye. "Are you going to Mass tonight?"

"I was thinking about it." Reese shrugged rather evasively in reply.

"It's as good a place as any to come in from the cold, Mr. Reese."


End file.
